Calling To The Underworld

Another chapter ripped up and rejigged. The start seemed okay with my police officer taking a short trip down to the beach in the middle of the night to find an evidence of an alien encounter. In the original first draft though he certainly finds that and was physically chased by the thing. Now though it was better to save that for later. He’s a cynic and a disbeliever so any direct contact now will blow any kind of tension apart especially as he’s meeting somebody who claims to have seem strange things going on.

He certainly finds something there below the sand but it won’t be the full show right now.

We’re nearly at the halfway point though and this thing is actually readable in places.

Now War Is Declared And Battle Come Down

I can’t write when I ain’t feeling.

When I’m not writing I can get really down about it. This then spills out into other aspects of my life and a vicious cycle starts. A couple of weeks ago I was stuck in a rut of struggling to write. I’d spend days feeling like a meat machine just carrying out programmes for the same situations everyday and coming home to find myself spending evenings watching a stream of garbage on YouTube simply because it was on the TV. What I really didn’t want was another stretch like this time last year when I spent around four or five months only doing about five thousand words.

This afternoon I found a groove though and it’s a simple thing that seems to have got it going.

This morning I went for a cup of coffee with Kathleen and John, two members of Dumfries based ghost hunting group Mostly Ghostly. Long time readers of this blog may remember my meetings with them a few years ago and attending their Ghost Walks around Dumfries. It had been a long time since I’d last seen them but we managed to get in touch and arrange a day for them to come through to Gretna for a catch up.

It was fantastic. They told me a bit about their future plans (very exciting) and they asked about the book. I gave them the synopsis and they were both interested. It’s a small thing but it felt really good that at least a couple of people were saying they’re interested in the final result. It’s certainly an ego thing but it was the first opportunity I think I’ve had to tell people about the book outside of my day job. That ‘isolated writer’ feeling was blown away for a short while. I got home with a small bit of belief in myself. Small but significant as it turned out.

I’d done the shopping, the dog was being looked after so I didn’t need to walk it, my son hadn’t got home from school. The way was clear to write about a thousand words which, having read them back, have a vibe that feels like me. Some writers make a big noise about ‘finding your own voice’ and whilst I don’t think I’ve got that far I am starting to get phases when I am happy with what I’m putting down on a page. That stuff matters to me and it matters as far as getting this book done. I’m in a much better frame of mind as a result of this afternoon as well.

Today was a good day.

You Can’t Buy Valour From A Vending Machine

I had a few days away, I meant to take my laptop and do some writing whilst I wasn’t home but it didn’t happen. I was staying with the in laws and it may have looked slightly rude if I just put my computer down on the dining table and ignored everybody else whilst I worked away.

As such I’ve only just got underway again tonight and, to my dismay, realised that I had stopped right before a really tough section. It’s the first meeting of the police officer and the Mother of the missing child ten years after the fact. There was a simple note from my read through right after all this that simply says ‘This conversation feels really forced’. In a way it’s supposed to as it’s both characters reacquainting themselves with each other but realising they’re still not seeing eye to eye even after all this time. The entire thing felt really exposition heavy though, as if subliminally I’d taken this opportunity to dump a whole ton of facts down.

Therefore I’ve carved it up and cut it down a lot. She is trying her level best to ignore him and he holds out an incredibly pathetic olive branch that he thinks might just save the situation. It doesn’t and she leaves the scene wondering why exactly the ever thought this town could ever change. In draft one they just seemed to be exchanging pleasantries.

It works better but I’m not quite deleting that note just yet.

Do Not Request Kissing

I’m getting bizzare levels of book anxiety now. If I don’t get at least a chunk of this rewrite done each day then I’m getting worried. Sometimes this means I’ll try and write for a short while and start really beating myself up about it if I don’t feel I’ve done enough on it.

So doing nothing makes me feel guilty, only managing to do a little makes me feel worse. It’s really strange and quite horrible.

Add to this the constant sensation of this all being a waste of time. The loudest voice in my head is the one saying that this is just a hokey alien story set in Scotland that nobody will want to read. By the time this is anywhere near ready I’ll have been working on it for around three years. That’s a long time to work on something and it not to really go anywhere.

It’s been a frustrating day, just in case you can’t tell.

Missed Four Stations

Questions I get on a few occasions lately.

“What’s the book about?”.

So I tell them. It’s usually followed by…

“What’s the ending?”.

To which I do not answer, instead suggesting they might be interested in buying the final thing if they want to know that badly.

This then leads to…

“So are you publishing this then?”.

The answer would obviously be ‘Yes’ but I’m not sure exactly how yet. I figured long ago that I’d be far better off with actually getting the book itself done before I started looking at avenues to bring it to an audience. I actually Googled ‘Self publishing a book’ tonight as I was making dinner and it’s been something of an eye opener.

The main thing I can gain from it is that every single result I seemed to clock on suggested that self publishing was the greatest thing ever, that traditional publishing as we know it is dead and that it’s the easiest thing in the world to do as long as you give them $60.

I don’t really think that any publishing house or agent will want to touch this book. It’s not because it’s bad but more because I don’t think many places deal with science fiction anymore. I don’t really want to spend years sending out manuscripts, then wait around more and then get rejected.

Self publishing seems the way to go but then a lot of that just seems to be throwing it into a huge pile over at Amazon and watching it sink in the quagmire at 99p a go.

It’s still early days and I’m really not in a position to make any concrete plans about it now but does anybody have any experience of going down the independent publishing route? Any words of advice out there?

The First (Metaphorical) Baby To Die

The third rewrite (or rather the first proper one as the last one seemed to have boiled down to just getting chapters in the right order and cutting some of the ones that just didn’t go anywhere) has begun in full. I would have got it underway last Monday but it was my birthday so other things came to pass.

With this has come the first major ‘baby to die’ situation. Up until now I’ve always had the young girl go missing down a beach, being dragged into the sea waters by an alien creature. It made sense because that’s where the ship has crash landed and I loved the idea of a ‘Creature From The Black Lagoon’ vibe.

The problem was actually getting my character there in the first place. She certainly leaves her house with her Mother telling her to get back as quickly as possible. She ends up meeting the shopkeeper who has something of an alien parasite in him and he convinces her to walk by the beach on the way home. This means she can get swallowed up and ‘kidnapped’ in time.

But it’s really awkward and clunky and less of a masterplan and more of hitting and hoping. It also means that in one chapter I go from the girl being in her house, to walking down the street, to the shop and then to the beach. It’s way too much and gets really dull.

Therefore I just decided she can still be taken by an alien presence in the actual shop itself. This previously human shopkeeper suddenly turns into something really not human and we go from there. Having just finished that chapter it does read much better and doesn’t quite feel as long and drawn out. It does however mean lobbing off entire sections of the later story which revolve around the beach location in a search for clues etc.

It’s something I’ll resolve once I get there.

Experienced In The Supernatural.

There’s a chance I’ve mentioned this before on this blog but I often get the feeling when watching a movie or reading a book that I’m wasting time. Not that whatever you might be reading or watching at the time is poor but more that I should be getting on with my own stuff. How can I possibly be gaining ground in my own work if I’m spending time reading somebody else’s?

It’s annoying as hell because it’s an internal reaction I have that makes zero sense under any kind of scrutiny. As a result though it’s rare that I get into a book fully. A few days ago however I bought a book with a token I was gifted at Christmas.

I have never read any Stephen King books. I’ve seen The Shining movie (which King fell out with Kubrick during production of) but I’m not into horror generally. I wondered how a book could be scary, I actually thought that King wasn’t going to be that great.

I’m four chapters in and he’s really bloody good isn’t he? Each character is so well defined in the opening couple of chapters and the story has been brilliant from the get go. I’m actually damned jealous in how he makes this look so easy. It’s uncommon for a book to truly ‘click’ with me this early and I think the last one was Neil Gaiman’s American Gods.

Maybe I can put this down as research then I won’t beat myself up about just chilling with a book.

Also, why I didn’t call this blog entry ‘All Work And No Play Makes Cam A Dull Boy’ escapes me.